


Different Types of Fire

by MaiKusakabe



Category: One Piece
Genre: Bodyswap, Canon-Typical Violence, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-31
Updated: 2015-01-31
Packaged: 2018-03-09 21:54:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3265706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaiKusakabe/pseuds/MaiKusakabe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There were awkward situations derived from a battle, there were stupid situations derived from a battle, and then there was this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Different Types of Fire

**Author's Note:**

> This story was originally written as part of the MarcoAce Week. Day 1, with the theme Fire.
> 
> Beta-read by Aerle :)

Ace growled and set fire to the pile of boxes that had fallen on top of him. He had almost caught his opponent, but the slippery asshole had just switched himself with the damn boxes and now Ace had to scan the area — _again_ — in search of said asshole.

He spotted the man trying to run onto the lower deck of the enemy ship where they were fighting and Ace bolted after him, turning his arm into fire and launching a ‘Fire Fist’ in his direction in the hopes to catch him before the guy could react. He fried various enemies, and almost fried some crewmates who now weren’t happy at all with him, but the man had reacted in time and thrown himself to the side.

The guy looked back at Ace, a panicked expression on his face, and he raised a hand, yelling something Ace couldn’t hear through all the noise of the battle, and then everything swayed around Ace. His surroundings blurred, and he staggered, trying to hold himself upright by taking a step back. It was for naught, however, as the blurred area disappeared and everything turned into darkness.

 

* * *

 

 

When he came to, he recognized the familiar ceiling of the infirmary and groaned. He had spent enough unwilling days here during his unsuccessful career as an assassin to last him a lifetime, but apparently that hadn’t prevented his ass from landing here again.

And what had happened, anyway? That guy hadn’t been that strong, it didn’t make sense for him to be here. He wasn’t even hurting anywhere or anything like that.

Thatch’s relieved face appeared above his, obscuring his view of the ceiling, and the fourth division commander smiled.

“About time you woke up. You had us worried, bastard.”

“Sorry,” he groaned. “What happened?”

Thatch blinked and then shrugged.

“I was hoping you’d tell me. You were standing there and then you fainted. It kind of had the whole crew freaking out.”

Ace could understand. Having a commander losing consciousness wasn’t good for the crew’s morale, not even in a battle they had so obviously won as that one.

“Not sure. I was chasing that asshole and then he did something weird and that’s the last I remember.”

Thatch’s face had scrunched up in obvious confusion.

“What asshole?”

“That switching asshole. Kept moving all over the place.”

There was a short silence, and then:

“Are you sure you’re alright?”

“Yeah, why?”

“You weren’t chasing anybody, you were just overlooking the fight, Marco.”

_… Marco?_

“Uhhh, Thatch-“ Before he could compose a response, however, there was a very clear explosion to his left side followed by panicked yelling, and Thatch darted out from his bedside.

“SHIT, ACE!!” He heard the fourth division commander yell, and before he could even think what was going on, there was a very loud bang, more very much panicked and hurried voices, what sounded like water sprays and a growl. Because _that_ was a growl.

Gingerly, Ace sat up in bed, and whatever he had been planning to tell his friend died in his mouth when his eyes met his face. His face staring back at him from two beds to the left. His face that had a horrified expression not unlike the one Ace could feel forming on _his_ face.

He was so stunned he didn’t even register the kairoseki cuff clamped around his wrist that wasn’t any of the two wrists he could feel attached to his body.

_What the fuck-?_

 

* * *

 

 

Marco had been sure he had known what a bizarre situation was, he sure had experienced plenty of situations he had easily labeled that way. He had been wrong; he hadn’t known the meaning of bizarre up until this point.

After waking up, confused, in the infirmary —and his head had been hurting, why had his head been hurting? It had been _years_ since he had a headache— the most confusing conversation of his life and an outburst that he from now on would blame on hormones that weren’t his, things had spiraled into the most ridiculous situation he had ever experienced.

The bed had caught on fire.

It shouldn’t have happened. Sure, he had been annoyed at the careful suggestions about how he mustn’t be feeling well —and he w _asn’t_ , that was worrying and unnerving on its own—, and being insistently called _Ace_ , but even if he had lost control of his powers, which he never did, the bed shouldn’t have _caught on fire_.

It had been put out now, true, and Marco had been about to give Thatch a piece of his mind and a kick for the kairoseki handcuffs when his mind reeled to a halt the moment he saw his friend. Or who was _behind_ his friend, more precisely.

Because that was _him_ two beds to the right. Himself, staring at himself with his mouth open like a fish.

It took a whole of ten seconds to get his mind working.

Trepidation taking over him, Marco looked down at his unshackled hand. It was a familiar hand, a very familiar hand he could recognize amongst thousands of others.

The only problem was that it wasn’t _his_ hand.

He looked up at himself —his body —whatever. His — _his_ — jaw was still down, not that Marco could blame him for it.

“… Ace?”

 

* * *

 

 

“So, let me get this straight…” said a very much amused Thatch, a round of screams and another pair of kairoseki handcuffs on the other patient in the room later. “You,” he pointed to Ace, or to Ace’s body, anyway, “are Marco,” an annoyed nod, “and you,” this time he did point to Ace, “are Ace.” Ace nodded, feeling as annoyed as Marco looked.

Thatch burst out laughing, and he had to throw himself to the floor when Marco aimed a kick to his head. Unfortunately, Marco’s center and Ace’s center weren’t the same and the man, who had obviously not taken that into account, lost his balance and fell from the bed, hitting his head on the floor when he landed.

Ace would have laughed, as Thatch was still doing, if it wasn’t for the situation that had him both wanting to curl into a ball and go on a murder spree.

Ace, Marco in Ace’s body, raised a hand to his head, and Ace worried at the gesture.

“You okay?” He asked. There couldn’t be any _other_ effect, could there?

“My head hurts.”

“Huh? Of course it does, you just- Oh.” Yes, _oh_. The hit was one thing, but Ace somehow doubted Marco was very used to lingering pain. That had to be awkward. More awkward, at any rate.

 

* * *

 

 

“If you laugh, I’m going to fry you.”

Almost everybody around them, the captain included, brought a hand to their mouths, bit their lips or did some other thing to hold back the laughter so clearly threatening to spill out.

Ace couldn’t say he was surprised Marco’s threat had worked so well. Everybody on board, though perhaps Ace was an exception in most circumstances, knew better than to mess with a pissed off Marco. Now, they were faced with a thoroughly pissed off Marco wielding Ace’s fire power. He had refused to go out of the infirmary with the cuff on, Ace had said the same, and they had very much threatened Thatch with unmentionable suffering and a horrifying death if he didn’t surrender the keys. Contrary to popular belief, Thatch had a measure of self-preservation. It wasn’t big, but it was there.

Oh, now Marco was calm. Much calmer than the silent, deadly fury he had been in an hour ago. Not that Ace was or had been much better, mind you. Because it hadn’t been hard to guess that the switching bastard could switch more than just objects, and it was awkward to be in a different body. It could be worse, Ace knew it, Marco wasn’t much taller than Ace, which made moving easier than for example Jozu’s body would have been, and Ace did know this body very well, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t murder that bastard as soon as he got his hands on him. After the man had returned them to their bodies.

Amusement aside, the conversation was serious. It was a problem to have two commanders, even more so with one of them being the first mate, in a different body —not that it wouldn’t have been with any other crewmember, this just was more trouble for the crew at large— and they arranged to find that man.

Apparently, the enemy crew had been able to flee after Marco and Ace had passed out, because after that no one gave a fuck about them and the guys had been scared to death by that point.

When Ace was asked about the man’s appearance, he remembered having seen his face in a wanted poster, and so they set to find it.

 

* * *

 

 

“So… Ace…” Thatch’s arm wrapped around Marco’s body’s shoulders as Ace, sitting in one bench at the mess hall, stared morosely at his food.

He ignored the other commander in favor of wallowing in self pity, looking longingly at the piles of full plates spread before him. Because everything looked delicious and called out to him, but after two plates, _two meager plates_ , he was full, and simply couldn’t eat anything more. He never thought the day would come when he would discover something to hate about Marco’s body, but here it was; the man didn’t have an appetite.

A finger poked him in the cheek and finally drew his attention to the other commander.

“Don’t pout, that’s creepy on Marco’s face.” Thatch was half teasing, Ace knew, and so he glared at the man. Thatch laughed. “See? That’s much better.”

“What do you want?” he snapped, and the man grinned. That not quite innocent grin that made it clear he wasn’t up to anything good. Ace knew he wouldn’t like this.

“I was thinking, as you’re not nearly as stuck-up as Marco, perhaps you could help me with something.”

Ace blinked, because that was not what he had been expecting to come out of Thatch’s mouth.

“With what?”

The grin Thatch gave him made it clear it wasn’t an innocent request.

“Do you think you could see if you can lay eggs with that body?” And, no sooner had those words come out of his friend’s mouth, the man was kicked away from the table by a booted, flaming foot.

“Get lost, Thatch,” Marco growled, the typical scowl that appeared at the bird jokes a little off on Ace’s face, and the man sat down. His bad mood was soon forgotten, however, when he saw all the food laid on the table. “Oh, great, I’m ravenous.”

And, just like that, Marco began to easily devour all the food Ace was dying to be able to eat. They both ignored Thatch as the man stood up, groaning and complaining about the supposedly third degree burns that kick gave him. Marco was too busy practically inhaling food and Ace was too busy glaring at him for being able to eat all that so easily.

 

* * *

 

 

Marco hadn’t thought there would be any positive sides to this whole switching bodies fiasco, but, he reflected as he lay lazily on his bed, he had been wrong. He may have learned to move easily in Ace’s body, even to adapt his physical fighting skills after only a couple hours of trying, but apparently there were some things not so easy to control.

His handwriting was horrible.

After botching a couple of sheets of paperwork with what could only be described as chicken scratch, Marco had gone to Pops with his problem. And it was precisely thanks to that chicken scratch comment that Thatch had now the added responsibility of taking care of the first division’s paperwork plus the extra paperwork Marco had as the first mate. And Marco had made it very clear; if once he was back in his body there was even a single piece of his paperwork left, Thatch would _suffer_.

The fourth division commander didn’t find the situation funny anymore.

Marco laughed and, in Ace’s body, it came out almost as an evil cackle.

 

* * *

 

 

“Marco…” Whitebeard said in a warning voice. Maybe the glower the first mate had firmly on his face would have been scarier on his _real_ face, but it was terrifying enough on Ace’s face that no one but the captain dared to talk to him.

Maybe Ace would have tried, if he hadn’t been busy passing a very much similar glare over the crew assorted around them.

Right now, however, Marco was the immediate threat, because he had almost set the ship on fire three times —but, seriously, what sort of idiot joked about their situation when they both were in such a volatile mood? And where they could be overheard, no less— and it had been discovered, much to the crew’s horror, that Marco still had his haki. Because, apparently, haki is a mind ability. That meant, in a body with a very much destructive power he still didn’t control, only the captain could keep him at bay.

They couldn’t risk that Marco lost his temper when Pops wasn’t available to stop him.

And then there was Ace, who had accidentally turned his feet into bird talons a couple of times while kicking someone who annoyed him, and there had been a very close call one of those times.

Thus, it had been decided that Marco and Ace would have to wait somewhere while the crew searched for the enemy crew.

“Oh, come on, we’ll have to bring the guy alive to switch you back, he’ll be all yours,” Thatch said almost cheerfully, and he would have given that impression if he hadn’t been half hiding behind Jozu, a bandage still around the shoulder Marco had kicked earlier that day.

They were heading for a nearby touristic island that had decent shipwrights, a very likely place for their enemies to have gone.

Ace just hoped the other pirates would be there and they wouldn’t have to stay behind.

 

* * *

 

 

Officially, the first and second divisions of the Whitebeard Pirates were on vacation. In truth, the divisions were staying at the island to give their commanders an alibi so that no one would question their presence there.

The enemy crew had been there, but apparently the switching man had disappeared as soon as they had reached the island. Further investigation had discovered the man had taken one of the sea trains parting from the island, and the rest of the crew had left in that direction.

Marco glared at his hand, and then he glared at the pile of ash that had until moments ago been a table in their rented hotel room. The ‘room’ in question was a small brick cabin, because no one wanted Marco anywhere near the wooden ones, a little ways from most of the common facilities like the pool they couldn’t really enjoy.

He passed his glare from the ashes to the laughing Ace on the bed. Who was rolling on the mattress and swinging his legs about. That action just _did not_ fit Marco’s body.

“Shut the fuck up,” Marco growled, still surprised at how easily growls came out with Ace’s voice.

Ace, of course, just laughed harder, and Marco dashed forward and jumped on top of him.

The man calmed enough to raise an eyebrow and smirk up at him.

“You want something?”

“What if I do?”

He leaned down and captured the other’s lips, moving brusquely against them. Turning his head to the side to deepen the kiss, he hit Ace’s nose with his own and moved back up, groaning as he held a hand up to his nose. He _hated_ feeling pain.

“Ouch,” said Ace, who obviously wasn’t feeling any pain by now. “Looks like we’ve got a problem here. Or more than one.”

“What do you mean?” Marco asked, releasing his nose. It wasn’t so bad now, the hit hadn’t been really hard.

“Well… I don’t know about you, but it’s a little weird to snog myself. And fuck myself, too. I’m hot, of course, but,” Ace grinned with Marco’s face.

Marco looked down at the other, paying more attention this time. It was true that it was a little weird to be on top of his own body, but at the same time it wasn’t exactly _himself_. There was a faint blush on his cheeks that wouldn’t have been there so soon if it was him, and that grin was completely Ace’s. Also, now neither of them wore a shirt, because Ace was too used to walk around without one and had refused to let Marco cover his mark. Not that he minded, of course.

They could wait and keep their hands to themselves, he could guess many couples would do so in their current situation, but the thought of having sex with himself, on the other hand…

Marco leaned down, and pressed his lips into Ace’s ear.

“Why, Ace, are you saying you’d rather wait? Come on, _fuck me_.”

It was like using a magical spell of some sort because Marco soon found himself lying with his back on the bed, an eager Ace kissing, licking and biting at his neck, for some reason toying with the red beads there and dragging them over Marco’s skin with his tongue. And it was pleasurable, Marco was soon panting and sighing, and he decided to keep that little detail in mind in the future.

There was a loud bang against the cabin’s door.

“I don’t know what the fuck you two are doing, but there’s SMOKE coming out of there!!” someone Marco didn’t bother to identify yelled.

They bolted apart and to their feet and, sure enough, the headboard was on fire.

“Fuck, Marco, put it out!” Ace exclaimed, turning to look at him while pointing at the fire.

“How?!”

“Just think you want it to stop!”

Marco turned to the burning bed, intent on willing that thing off. It had messed with his sex, the damned-

The fire grew.

“MARCO!! What are you thinking?!”

“Sorry, sorry.”

He wanted that thing out, he wanted the fire to stop, to disappear… It slowly diminished in size until it finally snuffed itself out.

Ace sighed in relief, and so did Marco. Who knew this power required so much concentration? He wouldn’t have believed Ace was capable of it if he hadn’t needed it just now.

“Alright, fire’s out!!” Ace yelled at the door.

“Okay! Be careful, you two!”

They heard feet walking away.

“You know they were probably fucking, don’t you?” came the faint comment from the other side of the door.

“Oh, shit! I didn’t need that mental image.”

Marco looked at Ace and Ace looked at Marco. They both chuckled.

“What a way to kill the mood.”

 

* * *

 

 

“Oi, Marco, look at this!” Ace exclaimed, holding up a gaudy yellow belt with a _duck_ for buckle.

“Ace, _put that down_.”

“Why?” Ace asked, bringing the monstrosity closer to his face. “It fits your hair.”

“ _Ace…_ ” Marco growled, and he could now recognize the feeling of small flames licking at his skin as they made themselves visible. All around them, there were screams among the people that had been staring at them and many ran, terrified by the fire and the murderous look on the infamous pirate’s face.

Ace shrugged and left the belt back on the counter of the now empty market stand.

“Okay, okay. I still say it fits your hair.”

Marco grabbed him by the arm —and it was still a little strange that now Ace was the taller one— and dragged him to one of the many now empty corners of the market.

“Stop acting like that, people were staring.”

“Why?” Ace asked, confused.

“Because I don’t run around or point at stuff like a five year old. And I _don’t call others by my name_.”

Ace crossed his arms, and the petulant pout definitely _did not_ fit Marco’s face. If there was a reporter around, and there might be, Marco’s image could suffer from this. Or he might be accused of taking drugs; people didn’t really know what his power did aside from healing wounds, after all, they didn’t know those wouldn’t affect him. It was very sad that the drugs were the best option here.

“You called me Ace, too.”

“Because you were being an idiot. Can’t you act serious for a while? We’ll go back to the room if you don’t.”

Ace glared at him and Marco nodded, satisfied. That was a much less damaging image than the one the brat had been giving for the last few minutes. Their babysitters —because that was what they were even if the guys insisted they had gone to the marked for other reasons— had been divided between desperately signaling at them to just stop and trying not to laugh too noticeably.

Marco could just see it; this story would go all over the Moby Dick once the crew was back, and there would be _jokes_. Thatch was capable of searching the whole market for the belt just to torture him with it.

Marco went back to the stall and burned the damned thing.

 

* * *

 

 

The marine screamed right before being slammed on the ground with a sickening crunch that signaled the man would not wake up again.

Ace grimaced. He had, unconsciously, tried to turn his foot to fire, but instead it had transformed into sharp bird talons that had dug in the man’s chest before practically shattering his body with the strength Ace had put behind the kick.

Not far from where he was, marines wailed in terror as ‘Fire Fist Ace’ apparently had decided to go on a killing rampage and was liberally setting them on fire. There had been no buildings badly damaged —only the typical consequences of throwing a column of fire down a street and all that— and Ace considered it an improvement. Marco seemed to have caught the gist of how to summon fire, now he just had to learn to control its intensity, and not to mention its shape. Because a ten foot wide ball of fire to take down five soldiers _was_ overkill.

Ace himself would probably have been injured —perhaps even killed— if it wasn’t for Marco’s devil fruit. It was a nice power. Now Ace understood why Marco liked to taunt his opponents so much; it was amusing to see the triumphant expression of someone who thought they had managed to injure him, many of these injuries appearing to be fatal, to then just heal as if nothing had even happened.

Now, if Ace could just stop randomly transforming…

An officer, perhaps a captain or something like that, tried to attack him from the side, and Ace’s arm transformed automatically into a huge, blue flaming wing. The flames that came from Marco’s body didn’t burn, but that wasn’t a known fact and the marine squealed, jumping back to avoid the deadly-looking attack. Ace punched him square on the face with his still human hand.

The now blond glared at the wing that was still there, and tried to will it away. Around him, the marines recoiled, and Ace guessed they thought the glare was aimed at them. Marco’s glares were scary.

Finally, he managed to turn the wing back into an arm and grinned viciously —the reactions around him told him a viciously grinning Marco was even scarier than a glaring one— and launched himself against the biggest group of marines around.

They had been peacefully walking around town, or as peacefully as pirates can act, with just a dozen of crewmembers ‘casually’ in the same area, when a battalion of marines, led by some self-important Rear Admiral, had shown up. Apparently, the man had thought _only two commanders_ wouldn’t be too hard to capture if he had almost every man from the nearby base he commanded with him.

Unsurprisingly, that comment had annoyed Marco enough that he had, supposedly accidentally, thrown a column of fire the man’s way. The marine officer had tried to stop it with, Ace guessed, haki. Ace wasn’t surprised the marines knew he wasn’t a haki user; unfortunately for the man, Marco was, and he had used it in that attack.

Now the Rear Admiral was smoking on the ground —Ace wasn’t sure if the man was dead— and they were busy fending off all the marines who hadn’t been smart enough to flee when their commander officer fell. And, man, were the marines stupid.

 

* * *

 

 

Ace’s arms wrapped around Marco’s waist under the spray of the shower, that had been much needed after the battle.

“So, Marco, how’s your control of my power now?” the second division commander breathed against his ear, and the former blond sighed at the strange sensation of his own voice uttering those words, his lips brushing over the shell his ear from above —instead of the earlobe from below as was customary when they were standing up— and how strangely arousing it was. The hardness he could feel pressed against the small of his back told him he wasn’t the only one aroused.

“Much better, why?” he answered, voice steady, and smirked. If he was the one doing this to Ace, the younger man wouldn’t sound so calm.

Lips trailed down the back of his neck and brushed over his shoulder, and once again he felt a strange sensation brought by the stubble grazing his skin. It had been years since he last felt something like that, as Ace felt an almost visceral hatred for the thought of growing facial hair.

“Enough to not set things on fire accidentally?” the question was followed by a sucking kiss to a very sensitive spot that spoke of the other’s intimate knowledge of this body. Marco gasped.

“Perhaps. You have something in mind?”

Ace’s lips trailed up again, and the now blond nibbled on his earlobe before answering.

“You asked me to fuck you, didn’t you?” And a hand wrapped around his rapidly hardening dick. Marco groaned.

“Bed.”

He barely stopped to turn the water off before dragging Ace, or perhaps Ace dragged him, to the bed, where he fell on the mattress, bouncing slightly by the force of the impact, and looked up to hungry blue eyes gazing down at him. He smiled.

“Aren’t you going to move?” If he had wanted to say something, he wouldn’t have been able to, because his mouth was soon attacked by Ace’s — _his_ — own, and this time they didn’t hit the other when they shifted positions in the kiss. Ace really liked for his nipples to be played with and, when both hands’ thumb and index finger tweaked them, Marco moaned into the others’ mouth, Ace’s body much more sensitive to that particular action than Marco’s own.

“Lube,” Ace groaned against his lips, not moving again, and Marco understood he was asking where it was.

“My bag, small pocket.”

Ace jumped up and hurried to said bag, kneeling to search through its contents —neither man caring about the resulting mess of things strewn on the floor— and Marco hoisted himself on his elbows to observe the other.

It was strange, that was his own body throwing things around the room —because why had Marco been so stupid as to put the lube in the small pocket that was _inside_ the bag?— naked and writhing in Ace’s usual more than necessarily sexual movements. And it was _hot_. Besides, not to be vain, but he had a nice ass.

Ace hurried back to the bed, an out of place childishly smug grin on his face as he held the bottle, and Marco moved back enough to be laying completely on the mattress —not with his feet on the floor as they had been— right before the younger man crawled on top of him.

“Give me the bottle.”

Ace blinked and knelt up between Marco’s parted legs.

“Huh?”

Marco sat up, too, and took the already open bottle —and he hadn’t seen Ace open it— to dip three fingers in the thick substance.

“I like to prepare you.”

“What?” Ace’s face fell. “But hadn’t you said-?” The boy cut himself when Marco, not taking his eyes away from him, pushed two fingers into his own ass. And _fuck_ , it was a familiar yet completely new sensation, having two fingers buried knuckles deep into Ace’s familiar heat while, at the same time, they were inside himself.

“Fuck…” It was Ace, in Marco’s now breathy voice, who groaned, eyes glued to the ass where Marco’s fingers moved with the knowledge of many times, finally hitting Ace’s body’s prostate in this new position and making him moan.

The third finger in, Ace took the bottle of lube from him to coat his now dripping cock, leaning down to lick across the length of Marco’s own and, when the man groaned, smirking up at him in a way that said he had done it just for that reaction.

Marco pulled his fingers out and let himself be pushed onto his back. Ace made him part his legs further and raised them, and the older man smirked up at him.

“You’ll have to find a new angle,” he teased, though it was true that this wasn’t Marco’s body and the brat would have to adapt.

“Shut up, old man,” Ace growled, and sheathed himself in with a single, strong thrust. They both moaned.

“You know,” Marco gasped, “I think this is the longest your body has spent without my dick inside.” Instead of answering with words, Ace pulled back and thrust back in, making him moan again before starting with a pace that was faster than how they usually started, shifting slightly in search of his prostate. Because it had been a week since they had last fucked, this whole ordeal first having sent their libidos to sleep and then the fire mishaps interfering, and they both really needed it now.

Marco wrapped his arms around Ace’s neck and brought him down for a heated kiss, his hips moving to meet as many of the other’s irregular thrusts as he could, these signaling how close the younger man was. Ace’s shoulders trembled, he broke the kiss and his movements slowed for a moment before resuming with more vigor; then Marco’s hands were pressed over fluctuating, not entirely solid blue flames, there was nothing inside of him, and a wet liquid hit the outer ring of his asshole.

Marco glared up at the ecstatic-looking bird above him.

“You’ve _got_ to be kidding me.”

He unwrapped his arms from around the phoenix that now gazed at him with open apprehension in his too widely open eyes and sat up on the bed.

“Ace, _turn back_. Right now,” Marco growled, deadly calm, and was too angry to notice how well that tone went with the boy’s voice.

“How?!” Ace demanded, in an emulation of Marco a couple of days ago.

“Think you want to turn back to human.”

In different circumstances it would have been amusing to see the blue phoenix screw his eyes shut in concentration and bring his folded wings up to his head, but right now Marco couldn’t feel less inclined to humor.

It took a painfully long minute, but then an embarrassed Ace in Marco’s body was kneeling once more between his parted thighs, cock mockingly soft between his legs and a sheepish grin on his face.

“Sorry about that… I lost control- EEEECK!!”

Ace’s back hit the floor with a resounding slam, but the complaint the boy let out was more surprise than pain, as his current body healed immediately. Now it was Marco, almost literally burning eyes looking at him, on top, and the mentally older man leaned down to whisper right into the other’s ear.

“I’m going to show you a very interesting thing about my body.”

While Ace looked up at him in confusion, Marco grabbed him by the thighs, parted and lifted them and entered the tight opening in a swift, brusque thrust.

Ace gasped, both hands going up to Marco’s upper arms and grabbing them with enough strength to bruise and his eyes squeezed shut. Then he opened his eyes, blinked confusedly and loosened his grip.

“What…?”

Marco smirked down at him.

“Instant regeneration, remember?” And he began to move, fast and hard, trying to go back to the point he had been at before, because he had almost been at the brink of orgasm and his body demanded it.

Ace, once the shock was over, began to meet his thrusts, and raised a hand to cup Marco’s cheek, leaning up to place soft kisses over the man’s face that were the complete opposite to their hips’ movements.

“Sorry,” whispered Ace and this time, when it was Marco who shuddered and reached orgasm, there were no sudden transformations, and Ace leaned up to wrap his arms around the man, muffling Marco’s moan against his neck as he did so.

 

* * *

 

 

When Marco pulled out of him, Ace felt a sudden surge of envy at the lack of the pang that always appeared after sex, and suddenly understood much better Marco’s teasing questions about if he would be fine walking on his own.

Leaving that for a later date —because that now he knew for sure Marco felt no lingering discomfort from bottoming he would have to find a way to pay the man back— and smiled in what he hoped to be a sheepish yet seductive smile. It was hard to measure expressions with someone else’s face.

“Looks like I’m the one who needs help now,” he said, bringing a hand to his newly hard cock and brushing a finger over it.

Marco looked down there, licked his bottom lip and leaned his head down to brush his lips against Ace’s.

“You’ll have to work on it, then. I need another shower.”

And, just like that, Marco stood up, leaving a hard Ace on the floor and heading for the bathroom.

“What the-? Get back here, you asshole!!”

 

* * *

 

 

Ace thoroughly creeped the crew out when he ran to the docked Moby Dick, waving his arms around and yelling that it was about time. Marco sighed. He had long since given up on trying to maintain his reputation; if there was any sort of reporter in this island it was surely too late and, even if that wasn’t the case, rumors would spread. He would have to do something to restore his image. When would the next hopeful pirate crew attack them? The guys wouldn’t like it, but Marco was going to take them out singlehandedly. Letting some of them escape, of course, because he wanted the story to get out.

He did, however, glare at his very amused crewmates when he jumped on board, and was satisfied to see it worked as well as ever. Still, he had no doubt that the members of the first and second divisions that were now climbing onto the ship would have shared all their stories by the end of the day.

“So, how are my favorite lovebirds?” Thatch wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, and the only reason he didn’t get third degree burns this time was that Jozu, probably having expected something of the sort, had been ready to block Marco’s attack.

“Really,” said Izo, cuffing Thatch on the head as he approached, “you still don’t control that, Marco?” the crossdresser asked, crossing his arms before his chest.

“I do, that was intentional,” answered the first division commander, glaring at the man now rubbing the back of his head.

“Whatever,” Izo sighed. “We got him.”

Marco didn’t know what Ace had been doing, but it didn’t matter because the next moment they both were charging decidedly into the ship. Izo had to hurry to catch up with them and direct them in the proper direction and, followed by the captain’s amused laughter, the first and second division commanders barged into the closest storerooms, Marco holding the keys from the kairoseki handcuffs restraining the man there.

The man who almost pissed himself when he saw the two enraged men march into the room.

 

**The end**


End file.
